Little Things: Johnlock
by lunalovespudding3
Summary: 100-word Johnlock drabbles based off one-word prompts. A variety of themes. Spoilers through the end of S2.
1. Chapter 1

This was written before The Empty Hearse was released, so it may not match up.

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><p><strong>Muse<strong>

John doubted he would've enjoyed blogging if it hadn't been for Sherlock. Nothing else happened in his life - well, except the war, and he certainly wasn't going to write about that.

Then he met Sherlock, and everything was excited and he just had to get it out. So he started blogging. And, to his surprise, he liked it. He enjoyed telling people about the wild adventures that Sherlock led him into. There was no doubt about it: Sherlock was his muse.

Of course, there were some things about their adventures that were absolutely not fit for John's blog.

**Wrong**

Many times, John suggested something, and Sherlock said he was wrong. He didn't do it to be rude, no matter what the Yarders thought. He just had to say the right answer.

It didn't bother John, but sometimes he worried. He worried that Sherlock would get bored (How Sherlock got bored...) with John and leave him for someone who was right more often. Someone like Sherlock.

Sherlock, if he knew how John felt, would have assured him that he was smarter than most people.

Because although John wasn't as smart as Sherlock, he was as close as anyone could be.

**Key**

The key to 221B Baker Street had never been a subject of issue. Since Sherlock and John had lived together as flatmates first, they had skipped the awkward stage of dating and transitioned smoothly to romance (Or something like it).

"You're living with him?" A new doctor asked one pub night when John mentioned a habit of Sherlock's. "How long have you been seeing the guy?"

John though about it. "Few months, I s'pose. We were flatmates for a while before that. Thought he was dead for two years," he added.

It was an unusual situation, but it suited them.

**Trap**

Logically, Sherlock knew it was a trap. He knew there would be someone strapped to the bomb, and that there would be someone waiting for him. He also knew it would be Moriarty, and he was willing to risk the trap to find out who he was.

But then there was John. There was John, about to blow up, and Sherlock thought maybe he wasn't willing to die for this. Maybe this man was enough to make Sherlock Holmes change. Make him not only a great man, but a good one.

And maybe - just maybe - Sherlock wanted to.

**India**

One of the first places Sherlock traveled to when he was in hiding dismantling Moriarty's web was India.

India was beautiful, but Sherlock couldn't enjoy it. It seemed everywhere he went, he saw John: The best friend he lied to, the best friend he loved.

He saw a man with a limp and cane in the market. A doctor on the street, an ex-soldier in a restaurant. Even a jumper in a shop brought pangs.

The majority of what Sherlock was doing was waiting. He couldn't help thinking that maybe he could bear it if he could just stop remembering.

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><p><strong>I wrote this while I still shipped Johnlock, though my enthusiasm has faded since then. There is another round ready that will by posted next Tuesday, 211.**  
><strong>Review if you enjoyed or if you despised or if you want to bash my brains out with an apple.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Horse**

Sherlock loved John. He also loved his violin. And sometimes, the two things overlapped.

A week ago, Sherlock's bow had snapped. He had had it for ten years, and it had snapped. He was still sulking.

John decided that enough was enough, and he found a lovely little music store not too far away. After an hour of consulting, he left with a beautiful new bow, the horsehair shining with just the right amount of rosin.

He presented it to Sherlock, and the consulting detective grinned.

"This is excellent, John!"

John smiled.

Sherlock kissed John's forehead and raced to play.

**Light**

The sunlight was glinting in John's eyes as he stared up the roof of St. Bart's. He was furious, but that barely registered under the pure terror. He could hear the quiver in Sherlock's voice, but the glare obscured him.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." _I am,_ he thought, But he still couldn't see his friend.

Sherlock spoke more. John desperately argued, then listened, then Sherlock fell.

John rushed towards him, and finally the light faded. There was only the blooded, broken, crumpled body of Sherlock Holmes.

And there was no more light - just red and dark.

**Eyes**

Sherlock's eyes really are amazing. John could stare at them all day, not that Sherlock would understand, or even sit still for that long.

They're never the same color - sometimes pale blue, then an aquatic green, occasionally a gleaming gold.

It's almost inhuman, those eyes. Plenty of things about Sherlock seem otherworldly, and plenty of people treat him badly for his imperfections. It isn't fair. Lots of things aren't fair, and John had punched many people for their unfairness.

But no one could look into his eyes, the constant genius spark and rare caring, and feel tired or bored.

**Blood**

"Damn it, Sherlock!" John shouted. "Again?"

There was blood in the fridge. Again. Yes, it was in vials, but it was _right next to the jam._

"We got another fridge for this, love," he said tiredly, taking the vials to the other fridge.

Sherlock came out of their room scowling. "It's inconvenient." He noticed John's frown, and his expression softened. "I'm sorry."

John relaxed a little. "Please remember."

"I will." He looked a little sheepish. "Give me a second." John frowned.

"Sherlock..."

"You might not want to look in the toaster for a while."

"Sherlock!"

"John, it's just some skin!"

**Cake**

Although Sherlock rarely ate on cases, he would always make an exception for one thing: John's honey cakes.

You wouldn't think it, but John was a brilliant baker. He didn't make anything fancy, but the simple things, like those little golden cakes, were to die for.

John had first made them after discovering Sherlock's love of honey in an clever, ah, recreational use. He decided to find something to bake using it - and he did. Sherlock truly loved them - they were right up there with solving crime and John. And, despite his efforts, he couldn't deduce the recipe.

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><p><strong>Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry I don't have more of this, but it was certainly fun to write. Review if you enjoyed!<strong>


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